One more section of You Are The Camera for Tuesday morning. Thanks so much for reading!
Hank hated the new configuration. While he had no problem with the divorce and neither Robert nor I had forced him into any loyalty tests, what had seemed ideal turned rancid. He loved me being single again, loved that he was right about the foolishness of the marriage, and glad for his friendship with Robert. They played guitar together a couple of times a week and each Christmas gave out tapes of themselves performing duets with alternate lyrics to such ditties as John Mellencamp’s “Small Town,” calling themselves The Cat and The Dog. I had briefly dated Hank’s friend Eric, a sweet ex-Marine with whom I had almost nothing in common. But David was different. Hank began to hate David even before the Detroit move was a possibility. After a particularly boring creative writing workshop where a student presented a story about a princess with the power to see through walls, Hank and I sat on the bench outside the English department, discussing the situation.
“He’s a dinosaur, Michelle. He’s old enough to be your . . .”
“My uncle,” I interrupted.
“Your father. You don’t have an uncle. You have a wonderful dad. Why do you need someone who hasn’t had a date since the Carter administration?”
“He’s had dates. Remember how he took Shelley to the Christmas party?”
“Yeah, and I also remembered how she got drunk and cried at the after party because he wouldn’t sleep with her. He told her he had to coach little league. Jesus. What a fucking moron.” Hank didn’t wear a Scruples card in his hat anymore, but I could still see him turning it around from the good angel side to the pitchfork side like he did when Robert and I announced our engagement.
“He wakes up early to run. What’s so wrong about that?” I asked.
“Nothing if you’re Forest fucking Gump. The only thing that could get me to run is if the Devil himself were chasing me.”
Michelle's Spell of the Day
"Any band that is out there chasing it is doing more destruction to music then someone who is out there playing what they truly feel." Bret Michaels
Cocktail Hour
Nurse Jackie was great last night -- complications galore!
Benedictions and Maledictions
Happy Tuesday!
7 comments:
In the world of literary art, the fictive memoir is on the cutting edge of speculative rumination and the dialogue of this memoir provokes haunting images of the past as well as the present. Well done, Michelle!--Andrew Warhola
Great excerpt. That last line reminded me of a story from Everything's Eventual.
A princess with the power to see through walls? So what happens? Is she a sweet young lady that sees people plotting the overthrow of The Crown? Or is she Evil and uses her power to suppress the peasants? Do you know if this story ever got published? Very interesting!
Hi Hon, when can I read the whole thing? Can't wait! xo P.S. it's supposed to be 80 degrees here tomorrow so you and Good get your "Tiny" asses here!
We likes whom we likes and lives with the likes of whatever ending them likes end with.
The devil himself... I guess I run because I'm not ready to be caught. At 47 I want a few more years before I succumb to the inevitable. ;-)
Bret Michael's has a point, but isn't it still a bit hypocritical of him to say?
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